Her Sister's Secret

by E. V. Seymour

  “Damn right they do, and whose fault is that?” Her eyes shot to the window. Automatically, Nate and I shrank back.

  “You’re not thinking straight, love. Sam Holland’s your FLO, right? I’ll give her a call.” I had to hand it to Childe. He was the epitome of cool composure and warm compassion, yet no way was the woman setting foot over the threshold.

  “I have Sam on speed dial,” the woman spat back. “If I need her, I’ll ring for her. Here,” she said. “Give Mr Jay this. It’s all I came for.”

  Next, fast footsteps followed by the gate smashing open and banging against its hinges.

  Childe returned inside. He looked more shaken than he’d sounded seconds ago. “I’m sorry about that.”

  “Who was that bloody woman?” Nate said.

  “Richard Bowen’s widow.”

  I let out a groan, regretting my first instinct, which was to have laid into her verbally. Nate pitched forward, hands clasped over his head.

  “I’m sorry but can either of you identify this?” Childe extended his arm. In the palm of his hand nestled a gold and diamond bracelet.

  It belonged to my sister.

  Chapter 18

  “I’ve never seen it before.” The conviction in Nate’s voice blew me away.

  Like me, he knew it was Scarlet’s bracelet and yet he’d lied. The thought of how it had fallen into Mrs Bowen’s hands made me queasy. Slag, she’d said. Christ, if Scarlet had been involved in a relationship with Richard Bowen, it changed the entire picture.

  “And you?” Childe said, hawk-eyed.

  “Me?” I said.

  “Yes.”

  The muscles in Nate’s thighs, inches from mine, tightened, the sofa complaining under his silent protest. “I can’t be sure,” I lied. Childe’s eyes locked on mine. Buckling under his gaze, I mumbled, “She might have had something similar, but I’m not certain it’s the same one.” It was a pretty rubbish attempt to blur the truth.

  “Okay,” Childe said, in a way that assured me it was not okay at all. He got straight on his phone, all the while glaring at the pair of us. After reporting the incident with Mrs Bowen, he mentioned the bracelet. When someone spoke back, he stepped out into the hallway. I heard him say something about ‘escalating the investigation’, which could only be bad. Nate turned to me, fury in his expression.

  “Why, in God’s name, did you admit it could be hers?”

  “Don’t have a go at me. Why did you lie?” I spat back.

  “To protect my wife’s reputation.”

  “Are you sure it’s not your reputation?” I conveniently parked any suggestions about my sister’s private life. “You’re a hypocrite, Nate.”

  His jaw clenched. At that close proximity, I could almost hear his teeth grind his fillings to dust.

  “According to Fliss Fiander, Scarlet suspected you were having an affair. Hell, she probably knew.”

  “She had no damn right to say such a terrible thing.”

  “Scarlet or Fliss?” I sniped back.

  Nate tensed. Lines carved deep grooves in his forehead and his eyes became angry slits. “It’s none of your business.”

  Given the circumstances, I strongly disagreed, and I was furious with Nate for making me his secret-keeper.

  “How do you think Scarlet’s bracelet wound up in Heather Bowen’s hand –by teleportation?” Nate didn’t wait for an answer. “The woman must have gone through her husband’s things and found it.”

  As one picture smashed in my head, another ugly image revealed itself. The note now assumed new significance. Scarlet was apologising for what she was about to do, not something she had already done. She’d planned it. That note, damn it, demonstrated a degree of premeditation. And Nate had burnt it.

  Tears sprung to his eyes. “Even if she were sleeping with Bowen or having sex with someone else, what the fuck does it matter? She’s dead.” He let out a weary ragged sigh. “Don’t you see that I’m trying to protect her?”

  The sincerity in Nate’s expression made my pulse jive. He opened his mouth to say something else but stopped. Childe was back. Focused. Determined.

  “We’re going to need to conduct a search of the property, Nate.”

  “Why? I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “We know that,” Childe said, with a modicum of sympathy. “And I genuinely understand.”

  “Do you? Have you ever lost a wife?”

  “No,” he said plainly. “But I have plenty of experience of those who have.”

  “Not quite the same thing, is it?”

  “Nate,” I said, glancing at Childe, desperate to dial down Nate’s bellicosity. “The guy is simply doing his job, trying to help.” It’s what Dad would say.

  “Molly’s right, Nate,” Childe said, flashing me an appreciative look.

  Nate glowered then let out an enormous sigh. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry.”

  “Good.” Childe seemed glad the conversational dynamics had altered in his favour. “Did either of you have laptops or computers?”

  Nate’s pallor turned a shade lighter. “Well, yeah.”

  “We’ll need those too.”

  Nate closed his eyes. “Jesus,” he said, not angrily, as if he was cursed but as if the game was up. Was Nate worried a taste for porn would be disclosed, or concerned that emails to a woman he was sleeping with would be revealed? And what about Scarlet?

  Everything seemed to be running away, notching up several gears. “Isn’t this a little over the top? It’s not a murder investigation.” As my words broke loose, I sparked inside. If the police could prove beyond any reasonable doubt that Scarlet deliberately targeted Bowen, she would be branded a murderer.

  “Standard procedure in the circumstances,” Childe cut in. “Along with checking Scarlet’s phone records and call log.”

  “Fuck’s sake.” A vein in Nate’s temple stood out proud.

  “Is that a problem for you, Nate?” Childe’s tone was even, but his expression razor sharp.

  Nate tilted his head, jutted out his chin. Guarded. I shot him a look. “Nope.”

  “Good,” Childe said. “Is there somewhere close you can go for a few days?”

  “He can stay with me.” This time Nate shot me a look.

  From the expression on Childe’s face, he clearly favoured my suggestion. “We may need to ask further questions.”

  My thoughts entirely and the only reason I was about to take Nate captive.

  “What sort of questions?” Nate said.

  Clues to whether Scarlet had a prior relationship with Richard Bowen, whether or not she had a motive to harm him, I thought. I bet her bracelet would fall under the forensic microscope too. Whatever I believed or wanted to believe; I couldn’t argue with the facts.

  “Simply routine,” Childe said, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet.

  “Ridiculous.”

  Forcing a breezy note into my voice and looking Childe directly in the eye, I said, “That’s settled then.” And before Nate could protest, I added. “I’ll give you my address and contact number.”

  Chapter 19

  Begrudgingly, Nate got his shit together. His words, not mine, and we set off. As if to taunt us, signs that said ‘Think Bike’ appeared at regular intervals along the route.

  “Those witnesses should have their eyesight tested,” he grumbled.

  “Never mind them. I’m going to stop the car and you and me are going to have a chat.”

  “Christ, do you have air conditioning in this thing?”

  Dutifully, I rotated the control on the air con. “Don’t change the subject.”

  “I’m not. Pull over.”

  “So that you can do a runner? No chance.”

  “So we can talk.”

  I cast around, thinking I’d need to choose exactly the right spot, somewhere Nate would feel comfortable, but also not the kind of place he could easily make a break for it. Turning off the main road, I found a place a few miles on. Random. Surrounded by fields. Neare
st house half a mile away. I pulled up next to a tree stump that resembled an animal carcass. Blinking away unwanted memories, I killed the engine. Turning around to face my brother-in-law, I thought he resembled a man about to chuck himself off a multi-storey. His skin was pearly white, almost translucent. All I saw were his eyes, which were deep dark squirming pools.

  “Did you know that Scarlet asked Fliss for a loan?”

  Nate half-smiled, disbelieving. “That’s rubbish. Fliss must be mistaken or she misunderstood.”

  I repeated what Fliss had said. Nate’s body seemed to fold in on itself. “I don’t understand.”

  “Maybe she wanted to start a new life.”

  “And leave me? Never. Not her style.”

  I was no longer sure what my sister’s style was. Why else would Scarlet need £25k? If she’d changed her mind about taking a loan from Fliss because she’d found another source, it would show in her bank statements to which the police had access. She’d hardly be in receipt of £25k in used tenners. If anything of a financial nature was uncovered, the police were bound to follow the money trail. They always did. “Maybe she planned to take off with Bowen and got cold feet.”

  “You’re suggesting that the accident was the result of a lover’s tiff?” Nate scoffed. “A crime of passion?” Chill seized hold of my vertebrae. The scenario was believable, but would confirm my sister as a murderer, something I found hard to comprehend. Nate crossed his arms. “I don’t believe it.”

  “It would explain the content of the note.”

  “What note?”

  “Don’t you damn well dare,” I said, half-crazed with frustration. “The one you destroyed!”

  Nate was becoming a specialist in moody looks, this one a variation on the resentful version he’d performed for Childe. “I should never have shown you.”

  “Well, you did, and you haven’t answered my question.”

  Shoulders bunched up around his ears, he turned away and stared out of the window.

  “What else could Scarlet’s note mean?’

  He turned back, flicked up the palms of his hands.

  Getting somewhere. “You need to be as straightforward and honest with the police as possible.” I wasn’t thinking for Nate’s sake. I was thinking of my parents.

  “No way.”

  “If you say nothing and they discover she left a note, you’ll get into trouble for not coming clean.”

  “But they aren’t going to find out, are they Molly?” What he meant was that the only way they would was if I told them.

  My stupefied expression got a lot more stupid.

  “Are you going to tell them about the money?” I didn’t like the challenge in his voice.

  “Well, no, because —” I lost my train of thought. Money was my Achilles heel. Money was the spark that had lit the fuse for my fight with my sister.

  I’d always had to struggle to be financially independent. Any money my parents gave me was always a loan. Whereas Scarlet only had to click her fingers and loot would be forthcoming, no strings, which was why it was so disturbing that she’d gone to Fliss for cash and not our parents. Unable to come clean and speak about my own resentments, I didn’t finish.

  “If we breathe a word it will be like trashing her memory.” Nate’s tone was a lot more dialled down. He briefly touched my arm in what was meant as a shared moment of understanding and complicity.

  Grubby little fingers closed around my throat and gave it a good squeeze. Silence lengthened in the car. Now came the hard part. “I promise to keep your affair, fling, whatever, safe on one condition.”

  He looked incredulous and grateful.

  “You’re a gutless bastard, Nate, and the only reason you’re making a big deal about Scarlet’s affair is because you can’t stand the heat and attention on your own.”

  “That’s not —”

  “Save it. I’m only doing this to protect Mum and Dad. If you have a shred of decency, as soon as the funeral is out of the way, you’ll break your business partnership with Dad and clear off out of our lives.”

  Chapter 20

  Despite Nate’s protestation, I told Nate that he had a duty to drop in and see Mum and Dad before we went to mine. It’s what they’d expect, and it would be unkind not to. We didn’t speak for the rest of the journey. Noise from the car’s squeaky brakes, the result of an extended period of hot, dry weather, bored through the silence. Gave me time to turn things over in my head. Murder and money, those incestuously connected twins. How the shooting of a man fitted into things I’d no idea, but it slotted in somehow.

  The nearer we got to Malvern, the more the hills laid claim to the town. I’d always thought of them as quintessentially British. Today, they seemed like foreign invaders.

  Pulling up outside Mum and Dad’s, Nate grasped the thorny silence prickling between us. “Promise you won’t say anything to your folks?”

  I slammed on the handbrake. “It’s bit late for that, isn’t it?” He briefly closed his eyes, covered his mouth with his hand. He was sweating. A lot.

  “You do realise that Dad could win super-sleuth of the year?” Which was a problem. If he found out half of what I knew so would Mum and it would kill her.

  Nate issued a gale of a sigh in response. “He hasn’t worked for the police for years.”

  As if this made a difference. “He still has connections. You want my advice?”

  “Go on,” he said, shrinking, as if trying to bury himself in the foot well.

  “Be as honest as you can without destroying them.”

  Nate pitched forward, scrubbed at his face then his hair, and mumbled something indecipherable.

  “And don’t forget what I told you about the partnership,” I added.

  At the sound of the car doors opening and closing, Mr Lee went crazy and didn’t quieten until we were inside. I bent down and was overwhelmed with a blast of slobbery doggy breath.

  Dad appeared, visibly harassed. “Bloody newspaper hacks. Phone hasn’t stopped. Nate,” he said, softening, arms extended, pulling my brother-in-law close. Always tactile, it was one of the things I loved about my father. “How are you holding up, son?”

  Nate glanced across, caught my eye, anxiety scribbled all over his face. “Okay, I guess.”

  Dad patted Nate on the back and pulled away. “Any updates from the police? Only my source appears to have dried up. Can’t seem to get a word out of anyone.”

  I made a big play of stroking our dog. Close to Nate, I could feel the friction coming off him in waves. Tense and perplexed, my dad looked from me to Nate. “Well, erm— my family liaison officer, a guy called Childe,” Nate began in a strangled voice, “he visited this morning, confirming the results of the post-mortem.”

  Dad flicked an uneasy, expectant look.

  I studied the floor as Nate revealed the toxicology results.

  “Drunk?” Dad said, astounded.

  “The vehicle examiner’s report corroborated witness statements. They seem to think that Scarlet was unstable.”

  I could see Dad hanging on Nate’s every word. His cheeks sagged in dismay. “I don’t understand.” I caught the distraction in his voice. For once, my father’s sharp mind was slow to catch on.

  “They believe she intended to commit suicide,” Nate said in a low tone.

  It was as if we’d all tumbled into a void. Pain that was almost physical accelerated through me. It was some time before my father recovered the power of speech.

  “How could we have missed the signs?” He pressed a hand to his temple, as if trying to put pressure on the thinking part of his brain. “I don’t get it,” he said, shaking his head. “I have to ask you, son. Did Scarlet leave a note?”

  Nate swallowed. His hands clenched tight, knuckles virtually bursting through his skin. I tried to catch his eye again, but he refused to make contact.

  Dad viewed me in a way that told me he’d twigged he wasn’t getting the full story. “Let’s go into the study, Nate.”

/>   Ignoring Nate’s cornered expression, I said, “Where’s Mum?”

  “In the sitting room. Had a few drinks.” Code for she’s drunk, which was hardly surprising if not exactly helpful.

  “I’ll keep her company,” I said, as Dad turned on his heel, Nate gloomy, loping along behind him.

  Dressed in an old tracksuit, Mum sat on the floor surrounded by boxes of old photographs. Engrossed, she didn’t look up. Against the shuttered light, the smell of booze hung heavy. I slid onto the floor beside her.

  “Remember this?” She glanced up, her face, without make-up, puffy with crying. She showed me Scarlet’s graduation photograph. Goofing around, her mortarboard askew, you could see the happiness radiating out of her. The only person bursting with more pride than Scarlet on that day had been Mum. She touched the print tenderly, tracing the line around my sister’s face, dropping a kiss onto it before planting it carefully next to a line of others. Method in her madness, the photographs were arranged in date order, from babyhood to childhood, adolescent and young adult. Millions of them, more even than Zach, her firstborn.

  I wrapped an arm around her shoulders, giving her a squeeze. In the space of forty-eight hours, she’d lost weight, felt as fragile as spun glass. “And this,” I smiled, picking out a photo of Scarlet and me on holiday in Cornwall. The weather had been atrocious, I remembered, although it hadn’t deterred us from riding our bikes in full wet weather gear. Sodden and smiling for the camera, we couldn’t have looked more pleased. A volatile explosion of grief took me unawares, hot tears unexpectedly surging down my cheeks. I checked them with the back of my hand.

  Haunted, Mum reached for her drink, the sound of ice clinking against glass as familiar to me as her smile. “Did I hear Nate’s voice?”

  “He’s with dad in the study.” I wondered whether I should warn my mother of what was to come. I never expected drama and denials. This was not my father’s way, but the effect of his displeasure was no less punishing. What I hadn’t told Nate was that, as Scarlet’s protector, Dad would demand to know why his eldest daughter was so unhappy and what part his son-in-law might have played in her distress. To Scarlet, family was all. My parents’ commitment to her was no less strong. I imagined Dad listening quite reasonably then narrowing his eyes, getting Nate in his sights, speaking softly before he did the equivalent of pulling the trigger with a few well-chosen words. Dread dripped into my ear. “I expect they’ll be out soon,” I reassured Mum.